[ The game room still has the original set, Tseng notes. The wood-paneled walls have been refinished, and someone went to work on the suspicious stains that used to dapple the lush green carpet, but other than that, it's like a time capsule. The only difference is the five-cornered table fashioned as the centerpiece of the room, with its old wooden sliding drawers and elemental inscriptions. The cards the players are holding are marked with characters instead of numbers, which is different too. The game has changed, and so have the players, but Tseng's been in this room enough to sense that the stakes have stayed the same.
Three of the players are Tianshi, which is expected. Each of them is wearing the leather jacket with embossed characters, the symbol of the Phoenix rising emblazoned on the back. Their fingertips are black where they've ritualistically removed the prints from them. These are worker drones, street guys. He recognizes one of them from a job Plateside, which barely made the footnotes of his day back when this guy's cell got too big for its britches and tried offering protections up and down West 64th. He'd parked Rude on the stoop of a laundry mat to make it clear who ran this town and that was that. Still, Tseng remembers his name: Sun Fu. Why he's dealing in with sharks has Tseng's appetite for intriguing mysteries piqued and burning.
And then there's Yun's yán. She'd warned him, but Tseng wasn't expecting this: a broad, monumental figure hunched over the table, his face cratered with rambling scars and mostly obscured by a thick, bushy black beard. There are faded tattoos on his tan knuckles, which is the only way that Tseng is able to place him: he's Hijos de Sinaloa, has to be, one of the cartels that runs the ports down south. One of the very few operations that Tseng tries his best to stay away from, considering their far reach and penchant for spilling as much blood as it takes to quickly counter any assertations against their strength. Image is everything to them. They've run afoul of the Hijos exactly once in an official capacity, back when Shinra was chomping at the bit for Costan SOLDIERS, and Tseng's done more than his fair share appealing to the powers that be to reconsider ever trying them again.
But why he's here, swapping cards with Tianshi enforcers, Tseng can only venture to guess. He tries not to let his gaze slide toward Reno as he takes a step toward the table. The chair he pulls for his companion is at the left-hand side, next to Song Fu. He's going to need Reno at every advantage for this. ]
S'cuse me, boys. She likes to watch a good game. Don't you, cutie?
[ His hands drop to Reno's shoulders, rubbing circles before he pulls out a chair for himself. The Hijo is seated to his right-hand side. He tries not to let the serendipity of it all get to his head; things have the potential to go truly, truly wrong. ]
Deal me in?
[ One of the Tianshi says something about saving those seats for someone else. Tseng shakes his head and says they'll make it quick. That he always wins with his girl on his arm, don't you worry. Flashes a winning smile.
The Hijo's eyes stare him down, unblinking. Sun Fu starts passing cards around, and Tseng flashes Reno a glimpse at his hand before he starts sorting them, calculating plays in his head. ]
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Three of the players are Tianshi, which is expected. Each of them is wearing the leather jacket with embossed characters, the symbol of the Phoenix rising emblazoned on the back. Their fingertips are black where they've ritualistically removed the prints from them. These are worker drones, street guys. He recognizes one of them from a job Plateside, which barely made the footnotes of his day back when this guy's cell got too big for its britches and tried offering protections up and down West 64th. He'd parked Rude on the stoop of a laundry mat to make it clear who ran this town and that was that. Still, Tseng remembers his name: Sun Fu. Why he's dealing in with sharks has Tseng's appetite for intriguing mysteries piqued and burning.
And then there's Yun's yán. She'd warned him, but Tseng wasn't expecting this: a broad, monumental figure hunched over the table, his face cratered with rambling scars and mostly obscured by a thick, bushy black beard. There are faded tattoos on his tan knuckles, which is the only way that Tseng is able to place him: he's Hijos de Sinaloa, has to be, one of the cartels that runs the ports down south. One of the very few operations that Tseng tries his best to stay away from, considering their far reach and penchant for spilling as much blood as it takes to quickly counter any assertations against their strength. Image is everything to them. They've run afoul of the Hijos exactly once in an official capacity, back when Shinra was chomping at the bit for Costan SOLDIERS, and Tseng's done more than his fair share appealing to the powers that be to reconsider ever trying them again.
But why he's here, swapping cards with Tianshi enforcers, Tseng can only venture to guess. He tries not to let his gaze slide toward Reno as he takes a step toward the table. The chair he pulls for his companion is at the left-hand side, next to Song Fu. He's going to need Reno at every advantage for this. ]
S'cuse me, boys. She likes to watch a good game. Don't you, cutie?
[ His hands drop to Reno's shoulders, rubbing circles before he pulls out a chair for himself. The Hijo is seated to his right-hand side. He tries not to let the serendipity of it all get to his head; things have the potential to go truly, truly wrong. ]
Deal me in?
[ One of the Tianshi says something about saving those seats for someone else. Tseng shakes his head and says they'll make it quick. That he always wins with his girl on his arm, don't you worry. Flashes a winning smile.
The Hijo's eyes stare him down, unblinking. Sun Fu starts passing cards around, and Tseng flashes Reno a glimpse at his hand before he starts sorting them, calculating plays in his head. ]